The Singer

Up out of the Corn the Lark caroll'd in light,
Like a new splendour sprung from the dark husk of
Night,
Green light shimmer'd laughing o'er forest and sod;
The rich sky was full of the presence of God,
As with brave careless rapture he lavisht around
Rare violet fancies and rose-leaves of sound:
All thro' the Morn's sun-city sea-like his psalm
With melodious waves dasht the bright world of calm:
BUT HEAVILY HUNG THE DROOPT EARS OF THE CORN:
THEY WERE GATHERING GOLD IN THE DEWY MORN.

And he sang, as on heaven's fire-grains he had fed,
Till his heart's merry wine had made drunken his head.
How he sang! as his honey in Life's cells ne'er
dwindled,
And bonfires of Joy on all Life's hills were kindled:
He sang, as he felt that to singing was given
The magic to build rainbow-stairways to heaven!
And he could not have sung with more lusty cheer,
Had all the world listened a-tiptoe to hear!
ALL THE WHILE HEAVILY HUNG THE CORN,
ITS DROWSY EARS HEARD NOT THE SWEETHEART OF
MORN.